A Stranger in the Woods
by Rana1
Summary: From a fanfiction challenge therefore title may match same title from other authors


Fandom: Lord of the Rings

Rating: G rating K

Author: Patty K.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Lord of the Rings or Silmarillion or any other of Tolkien's characters, story lines, etc. I'm only doing this for fun and for my love of Tolkien's works. It's not like anybody would ever offer to pay me for this anyway, and I couldn't accept if they did, now could I?

Warnings: None.

Beta: none.

Cast: Haldir, and a Stranger.

Timeline: Beginning of the Fourth Age.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: A stranger enters the Golden Wood with a singular purpose. This was a response to a writing challenge and so shares a title with a few other authors' works.

Story is complete.

**Stranger in the Woods**

Haldir knew that the outsider had expected to be confronted before now. Even so, confident in bearing and impressive in physical strength, alert to the movement of the trees and their shadows on the dappled forest floor, the stranger showed no more tension than that battle-seasoned readiness he had exhibited upon entering the forest. He would, Haldir mused, be a formidable opponent. Yet as he made his way slowly but purposefully through the trees of Lothlorien it was apparent that his guardedness was not a sign of ill intent, but of long habit.

The trespasser stopped again and looked keenly about, hearing and placing every sound with intelligence and experience. He assessed the canopy of trees above, not pausing in the least when his eyes fell across Haldir's well-hidden position in the branches nearby. Haldir was uncomfortable with the stranger's presence. His very elven fiber resented every leaf and moss and flower that he touched. Still, Haldir noted with satisfaction, his wary yet awed gaze showed he was appreciative of the golden mallyrn.

Once again, the newcomer directed his attention to his immediate surroundings. The elven trails were purposefully faint here, not clear and smooth like the more secure paths to the west. He was not accustomed to forests, that much was evident. His tracking skills were not those of the Dunadain, but they were not to be dismissed. He had chosen rightly thus far.

The visitor scanned the forest once more, frowning. He obviously knew he had been watched for some time now, and was beginning to show small signs of impatience. Haldir's mouth twitched slightly in amusement. Quietly - at least quietly for one of his kind - the stranger resumed walking in a direction that if he did not stray would take him to Calas Galathon. Haldir gave a small negative sign to the elf perched further up the path. They would stop the stranger long before he got to the city; but not yet. How long, the march warden wondered, would it take for this one to exhibit the nervousness that he must be experiencing? Certainly he was not as flappable as the dwarf and the _periannath_1that had passed the borders of Lothlorien in the not so distant past.

They were waiting for him to do something foolish to betray how uneasy they were making him feel. Perhaps they wanted him to shout "show yourselves!" or something equally weak and impatient, but he was not so easily intimidated. No, he inwardly fumed, he had not expected to be treated like this. How he thought he should be greeted he wasn't sure, but he was positive it was not with this measure of disrespect. Or was it a sign of respect that they hadn't stopped him yet? The elves were a strange lot. He had only met a few of them, and the encounters had left him awed but more confused about them than he had been before, when they were the stuff of rumors and warnings of magic and witches that had scared him as a child.

He had felt their eyes on him the moment he stepped under the first of the trees with the golden flowers. Were they one or many? Two at least, he felt, and he trusted both his senses and his finely honed intuition. Wisely, he thought, he had left his companions waiting at the edge of the forest: A bewitched forest to his mind, though he had heard tell that the Lady of the Wood had departed. Still, he was expected; welcomed, he hoped. He had sent messages before him and received positive if oblique replies. Yet if he was to gain the secretive elven city, which he intended to do no matter what the obstacles, he would stand a much better chance if he went alone. So far, he and his horse had gotten further than he had expected. The fact that the animal showed no sign of alarm at the scrutiny they were enduring was encouraging: While alert, it seemed relaxed and content.

If he had but known it, the elves were showing the stranger a deference never before granted to a mortal other than the Elessar: to allow him to walk freely in the forest so near the naith of their home. Even the Fellowship had been blindfolded once they were a short distance within the fences. But those terrible times had passed, though the world still held dangers enough for elves. Haldir shifted position purposefully, and the ears of the steed that the outsider led twitched in his direction. The stranger glanced briefly at the horse, then back at the ground. If he had read anything into the creature's movements he did nothing to reveal it. In fact, to Haldir's surprise, he began to whistle softly to the horse as he walked forward by its side. This one, Haldir observed, gave the steed the respect and care it deserved, almost as if it was a friend and not a servant.

He could pick out signs of life miles away in the plains, but these trees - the watchers could be ten feet away from him and he would never see them. If only they would challenge him, he would meet them head-on with relish! But they were playing with him, like a rabbit in a snare. Well he could play too. He whistled under his breath, thinking. Grinning, he chose a barroom song, one in which the recipient of a variety of insulting verses could be changed to suit the occasion. He would start, he decided, with a few of the tamer verses, and see if elves could take a joke with aplomb and not with an arrow in their guest's neck. Suppressing the shiver that ran up his back, the stranger patted his horse's neck and began to sing.

The mortal had an acceptable voice, strong and rousing, Haldir decided. But as the man warmed to his tune his verses became more and more insulting. Haldir was glad that his brothers did not understand the common tongue as well as he, or they might have reacted out of turn to the man's colorful phrases. "Hang them by their ears," indeed! It was obvious that the man was taunting them in hopes of making them angry and careless. Haldir thought briefly of indulging him. It would be disrespectful to this particular visitor to carry this game too much further, and Lord Celeborn would surely hear of it. But first, he wanted to allow the stranger to put himself at more of a disadvantage.

Becoming amused at his own cleverness in spite of his predicament - he had not received even the slightest response - the man began to swing his legs and pump his arms for emphasis, adding easily interpreted movements to his suggestions of what the unseen company should do with themselves. Still nothing. He felt anger but also a grudging respect, for whoever was watching him was a worthy opponent. Confound these elves for their haughtiness! His heart beating quickly with growing irritation he forged into much more dangerous territory: "...and the Elf Lord had a face like a dwarf with sour beer..."

"Your song leaves much to be desired," Haldir purred once his brothers had stopped the man firmly in his tracks. Their arrows were not nocked - that would have sent a much too forceful message than was appropriate for their purpose - but their hands were on the hilts of their swords. The man started the least noticeable amount before recovering himself. Haldir smirked just enough to make it clear that he had noticed. The man also softly swore something in his native tongue. Haldir alone of his brothers could place the tongue, but not the word. No matter, it had betrayed the mortal as shaken by the sudden encounter.

"Indeed?" the man countered boldly, his hand also on the hilt of his sword. Tall as he was, he was surprised that this imposing elf was even taller. "Have you, I wonder, an improvement to offer?"

"I do. A new verse, something like this: "...and the _Rochir_2 fled with his tail between his legs..."

"I shall not accommodate you in that regard," the man responded firmly, but bowed to the march warden first, as was proper for a visitor no matter how high his rank. "Eomer of the Mark, bearing a gift for the Lord Celeborn, in honor of his journey to the Last Homely House."

"Haldir of Lorien; my brothers, Rumil and Orophin. Mae govannen3 - well met - Eomer King," Haldir bowed. "We have horses aplenty," he added.

Were it not for the twinkle Eomer saw in the elf's eye he would have been tempted to draw sword. They assessed each other silently for a long moment.

"Yet," Haldir continued, satisfied that this king of men could endure a taunt as well as he could deliver one, "none so rare, nor so fine as those of Rohan. Come, friend, you are expected.

"This is a proud and spirited steed, such as we rarely see in these latter days," Haldir conversed as he led the King of Rohan through the forest. "You honor Lord Celeborn with such a gift. What have you named it?"

Eomer said something in Rohirric that Haldir had him repeat until he had copied the man's exact intonations. The steed whinnied at hearing his name spoken by the elf.

Haldir addressed the horse with exaggerated seriousness. "You are a great steed, far too noble to ever endure a dwarf upon your back."

"Yes, he is blessed in that regard," Eomer agreed with a hearty laugh. This elf was a natural leader, Eomer observed, a fine warrior, proud but with a quick wit. He would be a staunch ally and possibly, Eomer found himself hoping, an even better friend. To start with, they had already established a common attitude toward dwarves.

1Hobbits

2Horse Lord


End file.
